


Weak

by Suga_Stardust



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, M/M, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29679036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suga_Stardust/pseuds/Suga_Stardust
Summary: inspired by the 'Weak' AMV by Ms Dolly Doll:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sFWrYNURq14
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

_"No thank you" is what I should've said_

_I should be in bed_

_But temptations of trouble on my tongue_

_Troubles yet to come_

_\---_

Just one more bottle. Just one. Viktor had promised himself this was going to be his last and final drink of the night before going to bed. He picked up the bottle of the vodka he always drank while visiting Russia, _Moscovskaya Osobaya_ \- also known as ‘Moscow Special’.

Special.

Tonight was anything but special.

 _But,_ Viktor thought, _it was special_. In its own, twisted way. Special in the way it brought back a certain flood of memories that stayed with the ex-figure skater like a plague. Memories that caused his body to shake in desperation and grief. To lash out at something that wasn’t there. To pine for days long-gone.

Someone who was more responsible would have gone to the memorial, set down some flowers - not any flowers, of course, but the white crocus. Viktor hated himself for remembering those tiny details. Hated how he could hear that voice lecturing him: ‘The white crocus stood for purity, innocence, and truth. Don’t you find that interesting, Vitya? Vitya! Listen to me!’

Viktor took another shot of the vodka just so he could distract himself. _Purity … innocence … truth_. What good were those things now that he was alone? He eyed the now-empty bottle of Moscovskaya. A dry laugh escaped from his lips.

‘It’s empty without you, _solnyshko_.’ The Russian term for ‘baby sun’ almost felt foreign on Viktor’s tongue. It had been such a long time since he had said that, he had forgotten how often he had said it on the daily. Breathing out slowly, Viktor picked up the bottle and stared at it long enough for his eyes to water up. He blinked, the label coming back into focus. _Time to get some more._ He stood up, half hoping to see that familiar figure emerging from the bedroom. But no one was home but him.

_‘Vitya! You know you’re going to win again, why even bother entering in the first place?’ Viktor laughed, his blue eyes shining, catching the light of the midday sun and glowing like gems in starlight. ‘You don’t understand, part of it is the thrill of staying in first place. Defending the crown you’ve fought so hard to win, and letting yourself enjoy the glory of being on the throne. And you know me, I want to continue skating until I can’t.’_

_Viktor smiled, and gave the man standing on the sidelines a wink._

_'When will that be?’_

_Another laugh escaped Viktor’s chest, ‘Who knows? Ask something else. Like “When will you marry me, Vitya?” Then I’ll give you an answer.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about changes: any changes I make will be grammar/style changes and no content-related changes at all, so you don't have to worry about missing anything.
> 
> Also another note about Russian: in no way shape or form am I fluent in Russian at all, so I apologise for any weird translations/Romanisations. However, I have a Russian friend who has been helping me with the terms. If you have any questions/qualms about it please don't hesitate to DM me on Insta ([astardust.art](https://www.instagram.com/astardust.art/) OR [annab.stardust](https://www.instagram.com/annab.stardust/)) or Twitter ([@astardust_art](https://twitter.com/astardust_art)).
> 
> Thank you always for your interest!


	2. Chapter 2

_One sip, bad for me_

_One hit, bad for me_

_One kiss, bad for me_

\---

Viktor stood at his front door and stared at the woodwork as if in a trance. The only thing he longed for was the sweet embrace of his lover’s arms. Oh … the warmth they had given. The only thing that could comfort him after long hard days at the rink. The only thing that could give him respite when he felt like the world was crumbling in on him. The only thing that could give him the stability he needed when the bouts of anxiety seemed to press in on him.

In a cry of sadness, Viktor half collapsed against the door. His arm served as a headrest as he leaned against the wood. He didn’t know how long he rested there just remembering the past. It was something he would often slip into, even before he was left alone. Once in a while he’d get to remembering days gone by while skating for fun, and his partner would forcefully yank him around and give him a chaste kiss to the lips.

_‘Vitya, my_ meelyi _, stay in the present.’_

_Lips as soft as velvet touched Viktor’s, and once again the Russian skater was brought back to the present. He laughed, to dispel his own worries._

_‘I’m here.’_

_Ice blue eyes met dark brown, and unspoken words passed between them. Unspoken feelings. Unspoken actions._

Viktor jerked back into reality when the feeling of lips was replaced by the rough wood.

 _Idiot,_ he thought, _he’s not coming back. When will you realise that?_

He yanked the door open and strode out to his Mercedes. If there was one thing Viktor didn’t give up since living alone, it was his expensive lifestyle. Chanel chapstick. His almost-7,000 USD sunglasses, his not-so-cheap wardrobe of coats, turtlenecks, blazers, and ties (of which he had too many - courtesy of his partner). His car, then, was the latest model. It was no matter that Viktor wasn’t exactly skating anymore, he still had money. Money was never an issue.

Opening the door with more force than needed, Viktor looked up at the sky and saw his breath cloud from the cold winter temperature. The stars were faint tonight, as they always were; it was the city, the light pollution made it almost impossible to see more than the brightest stars.

‘You’re up there, are you, _solnyshko_?’ Viktor stared at the few stars he could see. The foggy winter air obscured the brightness of them, and another wave of emptiness washed over him as he climbed into his car.

The liquor store was just a few blocks down, and on normal occasions he’d walk, but it was too cold even for a Russian like him. The teasing voice of his partner floated its way into his ears.

_‘Aha, you say you’re a tough Russian, yet the cold gets to you like it does a small kitty!’ The soft click of disapproval followed the sentence. ‘You are not a true Russian unless you brave the cold! Like me!’ A quick kiss to his cheek assured Viktor it was just a teasing sentiment._

Grief, Viktor knew, wasn’t something that passed by like a season. No, grief was more like a stage in life. It wasn’t a season that just passed by, had its peak, and was gone to welcome another change of climate. How could it be? How could grief be something that just passed by and was forgotten until another cosmic event triggered it?

No, Viktor knew it was more like a stage of life. It was something one grew into, grew with, and … dare he say, grew out of?

The crackling of the radio jolted him yet again back to the present.

 _One day I’m going to be killed if I zone out like this,_ Viktor mused to himself. With a flick of his finger, he turned off the radio. The shop was just ahead, and he pulled into the parking lot.

Once inside, Viktor opened the door made straight away to the vodka section. Of course, he preferred his ‘Moscow Special’, but his hand hovered over a different kind: _Belenkaya_ . The name slightly blurred, and memories threatened to overwhelm Viktor yet again. _No,_ he thought. Picking up the bottle from the shelf, Viktor strode over to the counter.

‘Ah, if it isn’t Mr Nikiforov?’

Viktor glanced up at the bartender. He was a mild man who often complimented Viktor on his clothing or choices of drink.

‘Belenkaya?’ The bartender looked at the bottle, ‘Wasn’t this -’

‘Yes.’ Viktor’s voice was curt. He didn’t want to talk about it.

The bartender blinked and rang up the bottle, ‘Cheers, Mr Nikiforov.’

Viktor left without saying anything, wordlessly taking the drink without a bag and getting back into his car. He sat there for a moment and popped the cap. He took a swig and almost choked. The taste brought back everything. The drunken nights at home. The 2am escapades to the liquor store. The fake fights in the bedroom. Then the mornings after. They would wake up and their clothes would be on the floor, the both of them entangled in each other’s arms but still shivering because the blankets had been tossed off unceremoniously the night previous. Inevitably they’d look at each other and laugh because what good are weekends but for getting drunk and having passionate sex with a lover?

Viktor’s heart tightened. He could almost hear the laughing of his partner, as if he was sitting right next to him in his Mercedes now. By a force of habit, Viktor looked over, but only saw an empty space. Blinking away tears, he made his way back home, taking another swig of the bottle.

Grief, like a stage in life, had growing pains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm so grateful you're all enjoying this - honestly my original intent was to just upload one chapter and yeet, but since I received feedback on it I decided to continue with the plan.  
> Again, thank you so much for your interest, and don't hesitate to DM me anytime!
> 
> insta: [astardust.art](https://www.instagram.com/astardust.art/) | [annab.stardust](https://www.instagram.com/annab.stardust/)
> 
> twt: [@astardust_art](https://twitter.com/astardust_art)
> 
> Thank you all!


	3. Chapter 3

_But I give in so easily_

_And "no thank you" is how it should've gone_

_I should stay strong_

\---

_‘Vitya, what would you do if I died?’_

_‘What?’_

_‘You heard me, what would you do if I died? Would you go off and fall in love without me? Find a another_ solntse _, drink_ Belenkaya _with them and eventually end up married?’_

_Viktor didn’t want to answer. Who comes up with those questions anyways?_

_‘Answer me, Vitya.’_

_The next thing Viktor knew was getting pinned down to the bed with his partner above him. His face was cupped between two slender hands, and he was staring up at eyes as beautiful as heaven itself. He never wanted to forget those eyes - the way they pierced his soul, read into his inner thoughts, and completed him. Viktor stared up, not wanting to break the silence. Of course, his partner was insistent. Giving Viktor’s face a soft shake, he softly caressed a stray strand of hair out of the figure skater’s eyes._

_‘You know how I’d answer,’ Viktor finally sighed._

_‘You’d find someone else. Or someone else would come up to you and take you once you got over me.’_

_Viktor sat up, causing his partner to lose his balance and fall half off Viktor’s lap._

_‘_ Suka _!’ Viktor could feel the bile start to rise from his stomach. ‘You make me sound like a psychopath!’_

_His partner recoiled slightly at the Russian expression for a slut. Now it was Viktor’s turn to grab his partner’s face._

_‘Listen to me,_ solnyshko _.’ Before finishing his sentence, Viktor kissed his partner, letting a bit of aggression filter through with a quick bite to the other’s bottom lip. He was rewarded with a soft exhale of surprise followed by a soft bite back. Viktor pulled away to stare once again into the eyes he was determined to memorise._

_‘You aren’t going to die.’_

_His partner’s face fell, ‘That wasn’t an answer, Vitya.’_

_Viktor growled in frustration softly, ‘It’s the only answer you’re going to get.’_

_Because, in reality, if the one he pledged his soul to died, Viktor would die too._

Viktor awoke the next morning to a ¾ bottle of _Belenkaya_ in front of his nose, the sun piercing his face like an arrow, and what felt like an anvil on his head.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. He blinked, but the haze in his eyes didn’t seem to clear. He sat up. And immediately laid back down. The throbbing in his head didn’t want to stop; he had to get up, someone was banging on his door - no, that was just the pounding of his head. No, there was someone there. Viktor got up, slower this time. He half stumbled to the door and peeked out.

 _Crap._ It was an old skating friend of his: Christophe Giacometti. Viktor closed his eyes and willed the person outside to just go away.

‘Viktor Nikiforov, get your ass out here!’

Viktor couldn’t stop a groan of pain from escaping his lips. Every sound was amplified, so it sounded like Christophe was yelling in his ear. It wasn’t like he disliked the Swiss-born skater, he just wanted to rest.

‘You were drinking, huh? You always drink. It’s been exactly a year, I know it has been. You drank on the month anniversary, and the sixth month mark, and the eighth, and now the year’s.’

_Fuck you, Chris._

Even though he seemed a little dense, Christophe had a really good memory when it came to dates. On more occasions than one Christophe was the one to remind Viktor of important dates such as anniversaries. In fact, Christophe had been the one Viktor was with when he was shopping for the one year’s-anniversary gifts. Viktor had settled on a pair of matching Burberry scarves, even though Christophe was lobbying for rings. He had asked Viktor if marriage was near on the horizon, and Viktor had given him a vague answer. Yes, of course marriage was near. But Viktor wanted to be back in his partner’s home town to propose; but due to his figure skating schedule, it wasn’t going to work out until at least a few months later. If Christophe was good at remembering dates, he was equally bad at keeping secrets.

‘VIKTOR NIKIFOROV!’ Christophe’s voice shot through the door and almost shattered Viktor’s eardrums.

‘Fuck you Chris!’ Viktor opened the door, and Christophe Giacometti was standing there in all his glory. His top was too low, his glasses were hideously round and big, and his bleached-blonde hair blinded Viktor’s eyes.

Not missing a beat, Christophe grinned, ‘You wanna finally do it, Mr Nikiforov?! You wanna fuck?’ If anyone else would have said that, Viktor would have ended their lives right there; but Christophe was different. For how crude he was, there were precious few times Viktor actually got mad at him. Christophe had known him even before his first relationship, and once Viktor found someone he was interested in, Christophe had been the one whom he had gone to.

Viktor rubbed his forehead with his fingers in despair, ‘You knew it was the year’s anniversary and yet you still make jokes?’ It was a halfhearted complaint, and Christophe knew it, but he dropped his joking demeanour and set a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

‘I know it’s hard for you, Nikiforov. I - I want you to understand that you’re not alone.’

Viktor nodded, but it wasn’t sincere. A heavy weight had settled on his heart, and he swallowed a lump in his throat. Christophe could say whatever he wanted to comfort him, but Viktor knew that the man standing there could hardly understand. He wasn’t the type of person to linger on past events like Viktor had always been. It was one of the reasons Christophe kept skating year after year despite missing the podium for the past half decade. He always looked forward to the next goal, the next challenge, the next adventure.

‘My head is killing me.’ Viktor patted Christophe’s hand and moved back inside. They both entered and Viktor realised how much of a dump his house looked like. Along with the two bottles (one empty) of vodka, there were also dirty dishes in the sink, what appeared to be a half-moldy slice of pizza, and maybe a few half-eaten bags of popcorn.

‘God, Nikiforov, are you a teenager?’ Christophe picked up what had probably been a bag of donuts but now resembled refried beans. He held it daintily between two fingers and dropped it into the trash can. Viktor didn’t dignify that jab with a comment.

‘Don’t take Tylenol unless you want to kill your liver,’ Christophe said while picking up more pieces of trash.

Viktor about laughed, wasn’t he already killing his liver with the amount of hard liquor he was consuming? He grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

‘And if you have any alka-seltzer tablets eat those.’ Christophe’s basketball made of a crumpled-up wrapper went sailing by Viktor’s ear and into the trash can in a perfect arc. ‘Oh, three points for Mr Giacometti.’ Christophe clapped for himself while doing a mock bow.

‘Are you going to tuck me into bed as well?’ Viktor remarked.

Christophe frowned, ‘Do you want to call me Mummy while I spoon-feed you mashed peas?’

Viktor shook his head, ‘No, I don’t have a Mummy kink.’

Christophe laughed at this, and threw another piece of trash into the bin.

‘Do you want to order something to eat?’

Viktor shrugged, ‘I don’t know, you’re the Mum.’

Christophe rolled his eyes, ‘At least take some responsibility, Nikiforov.’

Viktor stared at the glass of water in his hands. Responsibility was a word that was often said while he was still a figure skater - and still with someone. In fact, his responsibility - or lack thereof - was one of the things that his partner actually got mad about.

_‘Vitya, you have to take responsibility for your actions!’ The brown eyes that were usually so welcoming now brimmed with fire._

_‘It wasn’t my fault that he decided to look at you like that!’ Viktor was indignant. All he had done was get someone fired from the place where his partner worked because it was obvious he was hitting on Viktor’s little_ solnyshko _._

_‘He was harmless!’ his partner sighed, exasperated._

_‘He was going after you!’_

_‘If only you were more responsible …’_

‘Earth to Nikiforov! I’m ordering sushi because you’re so indecisive.’ Christophe waved his phone at Viktor and proceeded to order.

‘Fine.’ Viktor popped an Ibuprofen and dry swallowed it, swirling the water in his glass just to occupy his mind.

‘You know … you should travel with me. Now that I have more time on my hands, we should travel around. I know we’ve already traveled a bunch with our figure skating careers, but don’t you want to experience vacations without the threat of a tournament?’ Christophe sat down on the couch, seemingly satisfied now that he had done some housework.

Viktor shrugged, ‘Like where? We’ve been to all the major cities, and it’s cold.’

Christophe sighed, ‘I don’t know, the Bahamas. New Guinea. Japan.’

‘You just said Japan because you want to find some callboy to see every night.’

‘I gave up that fun stuff,’ Christophe’s voice had an air of defensiveness to it.

Viktor looked at the Swiss-born skater, having finally had his interest piqued.

‘Huh?’

‘I want to settle a bit now. Maybe actually find someone to spend some time with. It’s boring living alone, and one-night stands just aren’t as fun as they used to be.’ Christophe stretched slightly, and caught Viktor’s eyes.

‘You … aren’t sleeping around?’ Viktor found that a little hard to believe. Back in their skater days, Christophe was sometimes almost late to the venue because he would be passed out on some foreign guy’s bed. Viktor disapproved, but at least Christophe never ran out of stories.

‘Nikiforov, you hurt me.’ Christophe clutched his chest and pretended he was hurt, ‘No, I’m done with that. Did you hear me? I want to settle down, find a partner, and live with someone.’

‘Well,’ Viktor shrugged, ‘If I see any hot young guys out there, I’ll let you know.’

‘Seeing as you barely get out, I doubt you’d be any help.’

Viktor shrugged again, ‘What can I say? What’s the point?’

‘Maybe you should find a hobby.’

‘Like what? Basket-weaving?’

Christophe snorted, ‘If that’s your jam. No, dipshit, something physical like rock climbing, or swimming or skate -’

‘No.’ Viktor didn’t want to hear about skating. He left that behind after he himself was left behind. What use was skating when he had nothing to skate for anymore?

‘C’mon -’ Christophe frowned.

‘Stop it, Giacometti.’

Christophe gave up. He knew that tone, it was the same tone Viktor used when his partner had suggested going into modelling. Viktor gave his partner three points why he didn’t want his precious sun-boy going into modeling: _‘You’re going to make everyone fall for you.’ ‘People are going to objectify you.’ ‘You’re beautiful to me and I want to be the person you model to, not some random people through the interwebs or magazines.’_

‘Okay, Nikiforov. But I’m concerned for you.’

‘Don’t be.’ Viktor was still defensive.

If Christophe thought he could just come and fix him, then he was sorely mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ANNOUNCEMENT**  
> Hey guys! So ... this is a plug for my friend who is doing a survey concerning mental health and needs participants.
> 
> Basically, it's a survey about the context with which we refer to and make decisions concerning the treatment of those with mental health struggles.  
> So I'm wondering if those reading (preferably 16+) would take the time to do the survey.  
> You DO NOT have to reveal any personal information OR information about your own mental health at all.  
> I've taken the survey and it's pretty easy.  
> It DOES have instances of abuse and self-harm, however.
> 
> Here is the link: <https://livpsych.eu.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_bqI0MqJHEjKB3JY>
> 
> Again, if you have any questions or comments or just want to chat, my social:  
> insta: [astardust.art](https://www.instagram.com/astardust.art/) | [annab.stardust](https://www.instagram.com/annab.stardust/)  
> twt: [@astardust_art](https://twitter.com/astardust_art)


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